Friday, August 2, 2013

"Lowell, the Redcoats!" Pages 195-196

T

wo men walked rapidly
across the damp grass of Lexington Common, the smaller man, as if to leave one
set of footprints, stepping fastidiously in the wake of the bulky man with the
thick hands. Neither man exhibited concern about the tolling of the tower bell
or the beating of the company drum or the haste of militiamen crossing the Bedford road. Neither by
hesitancy nor surreptitious glance did they acknowledge the two dozen women,
handful of children, and five old men clustered in front of John Buckman’s
stable.

Both men
had accompanied Samuel Adams and John Hancock to the home of Woburn’s recently deceased preacher. The
first night of Hancock's residency at Reverend Jonas Clarke’s house John
Lowell, Hancock’s secretary, had stored the wealthy merchant’s traveling trunk
in a private room of John Buckman’s tavern. Underneath articles of clothing and
personal effects lay treasonous letters. Upon arriving at Woburn, Hancock had ordered that the trunk be
removed.

Lowell
and his companion climbed now the tavern’s stairs. Stopping at the first room
on the second floor, the secretary pulled out of his coat pocket a long key. Turning
it, he opened the chamber door. Looking over Lowell’s right shoulder, Paul Revere spied
beneath the curtained window the rectangular trunk. Bending his knees, Lowell grasped one handle.
Revere, facing
the wall, beginning his stoop, looked out the window.

Down
the slope of the Menotomy road, headed toward the tavern, advanced the King’s
infantry!

Revere noticed the brass
buttons, gold lace, whitened leather baldrics, and soiled white leggings. He
identified Major John Pitcairn, the profane, devout, fiery, amiable Scotsman
with whom he had occasionally exchanged pleasantries. He recognized riding
beside Pitcairn the pugnacious major who three hours ago had threatened to
scatter his brains.

“Lowell,
the Redcoats!” he cried.

Ten seconds later they were stomping down the
stairs, Lowell, straining at the high end of the
trunk, Revere,
carrying most of its weight, treading backwards. Out the front door and then
past the back of the stable they labored. Feeling the Bedford
road beneath his shoes, faced backward, Revere
witnessed east of the Meeting House the bravura of red uniforms. Ahead of the
dash of color rode Pitcairn, flanked by six or seven officers, each astride a
large “plow horse.” Parallel to the Bedford
road, Captain Parker’s militiamen had formed a long line.

Going between the blacksmith shop and Jonathan
Harrington’s house, Revere and Lowell returned to the road. Straining to
keep the bottom edge of the trunk above his knees, striking his heels on the
road’s surface, hearing Lowell’s arduous grunts,
Revere issued
rapid, lip-separating puffs.

The
renting sound of detonated gunpowder halted them, caused them to drop the
trunk.

Staring
through interfering tree limbs, Revere
saw lines of soldiers and billowing smoke. A second explosion blasted. The
soldiers charged.